In It For My Wife Read online

  She thought wrong. Burke handed them the keys to cabin number six, which was down a mosquito-ridden path from the lodge. Heather opened the door and stepped in. The floor creaked under her sneakers. There was no jacuzzi. There was no old fashioned chandelier like she had seen in the brochures. There didn’t seem to be any electricity at all, in fact. There was a propane lamp on the wall, and a low slung twin bed with some itchy-looking crocheted granny quilts on it.

  “Excuse me, what the hell?" Heather said, looking at Burke. “This is not at all what was advertised as part of the retreat.”

  Burke smiled serenely. “Oh dear. I'm afraid there has been a misunderstanding. This happens sometimes. You see, you probably viewed the amenities for the Piney Point Resort in general. What you did not read was the fine print. Bliss Boot Camp requires that there be no electricity, and so we use the exclusive primitive lodgings.”

  Heather stood agog. She pointed to the twin bed. “But this is not going to fit me, let alone my man-beast of a husband. Have you looked at him? His feet will be hanging off the edge!”

  Burke replied with a chuckle. “You see, that’s all part of it. We have found, in our many, many years of conducting Bliss, that small beds bring the couples closer together. Haha, some of our satisfied customers have reported that the twin beds make their love all the more erotic because it reminds them of making love in their teenage bedrooms. Isn’t that a hoot?”

  Burke was cracking himself up so hard he laughed until he snorted. Heather did not find any of this funny, and could not wait to write a strongly worded letter to the owner of Piney Point and it’s fraud of a webmaster. She took a deep breath. She could not read what was on John’s stony face.

  But then, she thought of the fact that there were people in the world with real problems. People with no fresh running water in their village, who would be over the moon with a soft twin bed and a solid roof. So, she decided to suck it up.

  “OK. Thank you, Burke. We’ll just get settled and head on down to breakfast. I’m starving.”

  Burke tensed up for the first time that morning. “Oh god, what now?” Heather asked.

  The little khaki man stammered, “Well, you see, you are in fact, late for breakfast. Our chef serves breakfast from 6 to 8 a.m., and it’s now 11, so you’ll have to wait to eat until lunch time.”

  Heather and John exchanged glances. “Ok,” she said. “I’m so tired from traveling, I don’t even care.”

  Burke threw up his hands and startled her all of a sudden. “Wonderful!” he said.

  John looked so startled his hand went to his cargo pocket. What did he have in there, she wondered? She hoped it was a breakfast burrito.

  Burke continued, “All-righty-roo, friends! We’ll see you at noon for your first workshop of the day. We meet in the conference room at the lodge. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go get ready.”

  Burke then jogged away happily.

  Heather tossed her suitcase onto a ramshackle little dresser and dug out her bug spray. She couldn’t even look at John.

  “I guess I didn’t read the fine print,” she mumbled.

  She read the energy in the room, just waiting for John to roar about being hangry.

  Instead, he placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. “We’re in this together, babe.”

  She smiled and handed him the bug spray. He didn’t even try to cop a feel. Too bad. Maybe it was the mountain air, but she was just beginning to relax.

  Chapter 7

  John

  John could not even begin to form the words for the fresh hell Heather had signed them up for.

  If he didn’t love this woman with such a raw passion he would be tackling that weird little dude to get his keys back. He meant it when he said they were in this together, but things seemed way off about the place. Starting with the weird dude who called himself “Burke.”

  Something is seriously wrong with that guy, and he has my phone and my keys, dammit.

  “Heather,” he said gently. “We're in this together, babe. You may have had to drag me here but really, how bad can it be?”

  Heather crossed the room and collapsed into John’s massive arms.

  “I’m so sorry,” she sobbed. “I screwed up big time.”

  She cried into John’s massive chest, and that one simple act froze John. This was the first time in months she had thrown herself at John without hesitation, and it left him immobilized. He quickly snapped to and crushed her soft body into his chest; inhaling her scent. Seeing her cry like that killed him and he would do anything to make it stop.

  “So, uh, Burke. He seems like he’s got some screws loose,” John joked, trying to clear the air.

  Heather didn’t really make a point to move or talk but he felt her squeeze tighter.

  “You know,” John said. “He reminds me of our old college dorm resident aide, Clinton.”

  Finally, she made an effort to lift her head and that was when he saw those brilliant green eyes peeking up at him. “Please, don't bring up that childish clown,” she hissed.

  “What do you mean?” he said, laughing out. “You know good and damn well he had a huge crush on you. Always showing up in those tight jeans that displayed the curves of your tasty ass. I'm pretty sure he had a permanent stiffy attached to him at all times!”

  Heather laughed and John slowly felt her ass up. He was a greedy bastard by nature, so when he had gone as long as he had without being able to park his dick in her wet folds, he learned to take advantage where he could.

  Heather went stiff and quickly backed away from John. Shit, he thought. Swing and a miss. She was so close; she just had to fight through the fog of whatever was holding her back and let me take her.

  John and Heather followed the directions back up the dirt path to the lodge, where the other couples were already waiting for the first workshop to begin.

  “Welcome, friends!” Burke said to the small gathering in the dark conference room. Of course, it would be dark. They don’t use electricity here, because of the fucking “vibrations,” so John ignored the odd little man, and looked around the room. There were about five or six makeshift cubicles off to the side of the room. They looked like something that might be used for small break-out workshop sessions. John could not wait to see what was expected of them at this thing.

  “I hope you have all had the chance to look around Camp Bliss and I do hope you will enjoy your stay,” Burke said.

  John could feel Heather’s eyes on him and he knew she was waiting to see his reaction. He didn’t want her to feel any worse about their current predicament, so he gently grabbed her hand and reminded her that they were in this together.

  “This first workshop is a bit of a doozy, so I would like to go over some ground rules before we begin and divide you all into your cubes. We will not be stealing glances at anybody else or listening to anyone else’s vibrations; we will all be focused completely, 100 percent, only on our partners. We will respect everyone’s boundaries, and there will be no thinking about what everyone else is doing in their cubes.”

  John wondered just where in Hell’s half acre this was going, but he knew he wasn’t going to like it.

  “Now, with that out of the way,” Burke continued, “Let’s show our commitment to trusting the process. Everyone, under your seats you will find an envelope with a number. Each couple has their own number that corresponds to the numbered cubes. Please go there, remove your clothes and sit down.”

  John and Heather looked at each other. “Uh, what did the little gremlin say?” John asked.

  “Yes, that’s right,” Burke continued. “You have no need for this artificial armor that protects you. Be together just as you are. Once you have removed all of your clothing, take a seat facing your partner on the floor cushions we have provided.”

  Some were hesitant; others seemed to have done this all before and were already peeling off their clothes before they were even fully hidden behind their respective cubicle walls.

&nb
sp; “That's right, friends! Let's get naked and acquainted,” Burke said, clapping his hands in the dark.

  John’s mouth fell open as Heather dragged him to cubicle number 1. Did this nut job really think they were all going to strip naked? Like, be in the nude, with other people in the room?

  “Heather,” he said as he tried to grab her hand to leave this joint but instead of flesh, was met with her bra and panties. “What in the hell are you doing?”

  “I'm trusting the process, John. Come on, we’re safe. Nobody can see us. Please, do this with me,” she begged.

  “For fuck’s sake,” he said, grabbing her body to cover it with his. “Have you lost your mind? We're not even here for an hour before he's stripped us of our phones and now-- now you want me to get naked?”

  Heather stammered, “Please, John. Don't let me do this alone. We’re never going to see any of these people again, so let’s just get through this.”

  John remembered he had committed himself this far. He had told himself he would do anything — and he meant anything — to get back into his wife’s good graces. So, he sighed, gritted his teeth, and stripped himself bare.

  Without warning, Heather approached and gave him a quick peck on the cheek in appreciation. John, the hungry man he was, reached out to grab his wife to claim her mouth in earnest.

  But his move was interrupted by the sound of skinny hands clapping.

  “I would like for you all to sit ‘criss-cross apple sauce’ in front of your significant other and just gaze, no words are necessary.”

  As all the couples were lowering to their cushions Burke pushed a button from the stage and turned on soft jazz and these aromatic dispensers that we're quickly filling the room with Rosemary. It was actually quite soothing, thought John.

  “Now my friends,” Burke quietly said, “I want you to look at each other. Examine your spouse from head to toe. Look deeply into their souls.” John and Heather slowly made eye contact and the process began.

  “I can't believe I'm doing this,” John muttered.

  Slowly breathing in and out John began his inspection of his beautiful wife.

  His gaze drifted to her incredible breasts, because what else were they supposed to do here? He took a few moments drooling over them, watching them rise and fall with her breathing, before his gaze drifted to her sweet face. She still looked to him the same as when they met.

  In high school, she was new to town and because he was the President of the National Honor Society, he was the very first to welcome her to the school. They had been together ever since.

  Her hair was still like silky dark chocolate, and he wanted to reach over and get lost in its scent, press their bodies together … privately, though … and watch her hair fan over his stomach as she teased and pleased him. His eyes moved down to her throat and neck, making him ready to reach over and lick every inch of her.

  The room was feeling warmer. John could see dampness forming in her cleavage.

  “Hey,” he whispered. “Remember that time —“

  “Shh!” she said, her finger over her lips to hush him.

  But he ignored this and continued, “I sucked your toes and you came all over the place?”

  “Oh my god,” she laugh-whispered. “Shut up.”

  He loved, loved, loved that he had made her laugh.

  “How about we give everybody a floor show and I start sucking your toes?” he whispered, this time a little louder.

  Heather’s shoulders were shaking as she tried to hold back her guffaws. “Zip it! We’re supposed to be gazing in each other’s eyes right now.”

  John continued, “You mean like feeling each other’s vibrations or what-the-fuck-ever? Hey, how much horse shit can one scrawny dude’s body contain, anyway?”

  Heather covered her mouth to cover up her giggle fit as shushing noises started drifting over from the other cubicles.

  “You are awful,” she whisper-yelled, doubled over in fits.

  “But you kinda still like me,” he said.

  Heather and John teetered on cracking jokes and fighting off audible fits of giggling for the rest of the session until, finally, they got the signal to get dressed.

  “And that’s lunch!” shouted their fearless leader.

  As they stood up and got dressed, Heather wiping her eyes from tears of laughter, John pulled her in close and spoke directly into her ear.

  “The only lunch I want is your pussy.”

  He could feel her whole entire body flush with need. He was getting closer.

  Maybe this place wasn’t so bad after all.

  Chapter 8

  Heather

  “What do you call this?”

  Heather looked forlornly at her tray. Not only were they eating outside with the gnats, flies and mosquitoes on a picnic table — albeit a very nice picnic table under an ornate picnic shelter — none of this food looked like what was described on the website.

  The counselor dishing up the food replied cheerfully, “It’s ancient grain and zoodle salad with a spritz of lemon.”

  “Oh,” Heather sighed in relief. “The salad course. Sounds delicious. What’s the entree?”

  The counselor patted her on the shoulder and served the next person.

  She looked around at the other campers. One of them, a woman about her age with a kind face, who sat next to a sullen man that Heather presumed to be the woman’s husband said, “Yeah, no. Sorry, they feed us the bare minimum to keep us from interrupting our vibrations between each other as a couple. It’s supposed to help keep our auras focused on each other.”

  Heather chewed her food slowly, telling herself to savor every bite. “It sounds like you’ve been through this before.”

  The woman smiled cautiously and glanced at her husband. He seemed not at all interested in making conversation. “Yes,” the wife said. “Once before. This time, it was for … other reasons.”

  She glanced again at her husband, who wasn’t eating but was instead staring off into space. Heather followed the man’s gaze, which for some reason seemed to be falling somewhere toward the counselors’ table.

  Heather tried to pinpoint what was going on with the guy, but then the woman reached across the table and stuck out her hand, “I’m Brynn.”

  Heather took it and made introductions. Eventually, Brynn’s sullen husband got around to muttering that his name was Tad … or something.

  Maybe I don’t have it so bad after all, Heather thought. This guy communicates like a Cro-Magnon.

  John took a sip of water and did a spit-take. “What the fuck,” he sputtered.

  Heather patted his arm. “Are you OK, babe?”

  “What is in this?” he said, holding up the glass. Heather shrugged and sipped her water.

  “Tastes like cucumber and something else,” she said. “I kind of like it.”

  John grunted that it tasted like piss.

  “Well,” said Brynn, “They only serve herbal water, it’s another way they want us to clean our pipes, so to speak.”

  John shook his head and laughed. “I got other ways of keeping our pipes nice and clean, right babe?”

  John put his hand on her knee under the table. Heather let his hand drift upward, under her shorts, until his fingers reached the place where her panties would be.

  She blushed. She could feel him emit a quiet growl when he realized she was going commando. Heather had secretly stashed her undies in her bag after their first workshop. It was hot, and they had already been covered in sweat and she couldn’t bear to put them back on.

  Heather rather enjoyed letting John feel her up right in front of everyone, right there under the table without anyone noticing.

  Ever since he had brought up the toe-sucking move, she’d been feeling the need to get him between her legs again. It had been too long.

  Sure, she was starving while eating this ridiculously small meal, she was hot, covered in bug repellent, being subjected to a shit-show of a retreat, but on the other hand, s
he couldn’t wait to get John back to the room to try to break that stupid twin bed.

  She cleared her throat as she scooted her butt forward on the picnic table bench so John’s fingers could gain better access between her legs. “So … Brynn … what did you two think of that crazy workshop?”

  She half-listened to Emily yammer on about the workshop and vibrations and auras and whatever else went on at the retreat. John’s fingers creeped toward her folds but could not quite gain full access. Heather glanced sideways and felt John’s eyes on her breasts. She scooted forward a little more and adjusted her shorts. John’s fingers found their way home to her folds.

  She gasped, and then caught herself. “Really? Wow! Uh … yeah … that’s fascinating,” she said with utter fakery. Tell me about the spa … yes … yes… I love a good massage … I’m feeling really tight. I can’t wait to try that out.”

  Brynn nodded, seemingly totally unaware of what was going on under the picnic table. She kept talking, and John kept at it. His fingers found her entrance and he slicked his fingers in her juice. “Oh wow! Yep,” Heather interjected. John then found her clit and flicked it. Hard. Heather’s nipples suddenly turned rock hard and she cried out.

  “Are you Ok?” Emily stood up.

  Graciously, John remove his hand from her shorts and also asked her if she was OK.

  Heather, feeling herself turn deep red, gave him a sidelong glance. “Just need some water,” she said, gasping and chugging her glass and pouring herself another one from a nearby pitcher. Thankfully, Tad seemed still to be focused on the counselor’s table, and Brynn was clueless that John had been giving his wife a handsie during their entire conversation.

  Heather did not know what to say next, so she kept downing water.

  It was John who then suggested they go check out the spa, while giving Heather a truly evil look. It spoke of all the naughty things he was sure to do to her in there.